Tag Archives: Pets

When The Towers Fell – September 11

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I don’t approve of using animals in war or police work. I think it’s cruel to send dogs and horses in harm’s way, especially since these sentient beings don’t have the ability to consent — decision-making capacity –and are merely used as expendable, cheap fodder. In my opinion, that’s clearly abusive.

However, the rescue dogs who searched for victims of the 9/11 attacks saved many lives and then took on the task of providing therapy to survivors.

On September 11, 2001, when the towers fell and the sky turned to ash, more than 300 search and rescue dogs stepped into hell on earth. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t flinch. They climbed through fire and steel, through suffocating debris and deafening silence, searching for life with every breath, every pawstep, every heartbeat.

They entered with pure hearts and fearless resolve—no armor, no agenda, just the unshakable instinct to help. They worked until their pads split, until the air burned their lungs, until their handlers broke down and hope ran dry. And still, they kept going. Because that’s what heroes do.

When the searching stopped, the therapy dogs arrived. Quiet. Steady. Healing. They didn’t need words. They curled beside the broken, leaned into the grief, and reminded shattered humans that love hadn’t died in the dust.

These beautiful dogs didn’t just serve. They bore the weight of our sorrow. They carried our hope. They were the silent saints of Ground Zero—unspoken, unshaken, unforgettable.

We don’t just remember them. We thank them. For their courage. For their comfort. For showing us, in our darkest hours, what selfless devotion truly looks like.

To the hero dogs of 9/11: your legacy lives on in every rescue, every comfort, every life saved because you showed up when it mattered most. Curated from houndsinpounds.org

I See You

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I had another lucid dream about my kitty, Bandit. She was seated on the sofa, paws tucked up under her body, and she was simply looking at me.

When she was alive, she would often stare at me, right through to my bones, with such intense love in her eyes that I’d have to stop whatever I was doing and bask in the feeling of being so very loved. SIGH. I surely do miss that girl.

And, there
In the mists of my memory
I see you.
And, there
In the mists of my memory
You shall always be.

A little poem written by Athey Thompson

Little Ghost Cat

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I’m trying to distract myself from all the horrible events going on in this country — too many to talk about — with memories of beautiful Bandit, who still visits me in my dreams. She was the real princess, not me.

“Hello, my love…”

Little Ghost Cat,
Sometimes, I hear your gentle purr
And feel the soft touch of your fur.
Then, late at night, old memories stir
Of the friend I loved and lost.

Little Ghost Cat,
By moonlight, now you come and go
Unseen and like moving water flow
O friend I loved and lost.

(I believe this poem is attributed to Barbara Parkhill Hall)

Word Of The Day: Kahu

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This time of year is when I really miss all my babies that have crossed over the Rainbow Bridge.

I never felt as if I “owned” them; I always felt as if I was their caretaker and protector and that we were a loving family, so I was profoundly touched when I learned there was a word to describe that concept.

Kahu is a Hawaiian word with a deep spiritual meaning, as it implies that the person and their pet are connected on a spiritual level. 

Kahu is a guardian; person who is entrusted with the safekeeping of something precious, a protector, steward, beloved attendant.

In Hawaiian culture, the relationship between a person and their pet is described as a kahu relationship. 

That sounds about right, the way to describe what is most precious. The word kahu, and what it means, is incredibly beautiful, so much more accurate than being referred to as our furbaby’s “owner”.

Remembering Bandit

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I love these photos of Bandit because as sweet as she looks, this girl took absolutely no shit from anyone.

One minute she would allow herself to be stroked and loved and her long silky fur brushed, and seemingly for no reason at all, except maybe to herself in her weird kitty brain, she’d lash out and inflict serious damage with her teeth or claws.

Late in life, Bandit was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and chronic renal failure. With the help of a great vet, we did all we could to extend her quality of life as long as possible, but on July 26, 2010, at the age of thirteen, there was no denying that her journey as my spiritual kitty daughter had come to an end. The doc came over and assisted her transition over the Rainbow Bridge.

Bandit is the one I still dream about; freaky lucid dreams as if she’s still here with me.

Rest in peace, my furry little soulmate.

The Unseen

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It’s been a long while since the gardens at Casa de Enchanted Seashells were honored by the presence of a four-legged child. When we had a completely empty nest, there was supposed to be a lot of travel and other fun but that didn’t really happen, at least not in the way I had happily anticipated.

This was my beloved Bandit…Bandit in a box

…and my beautiful Border Collie boy –Victor at age sixteen, enjoying his senior years at what was to be his last Christmas before crossing over the Rainbow Bridge, sitting in the place of honor because he deserved it.

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Lately, something odd and mysterious has been going on here.  I’ve discovered tennis balls and other toys that simply seem to randomly appear out of nowhere, some even in the middle of the lawn, as if a game of fetch was still in progress.

See?

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There’s a monogamous pair of coyotes that visit me on a regular basis and I have a wildlife camera set up to record their activities, so I know the balls don’t come from them, although that’d be super cool if they were bringing me gifts to thank me for my vocal support regarding coexistence with wildlife, instead of vilifying and murdering them.

But…

My yard is completely fenced in–not that coyotes care about that–but to emphasize the fact that a normal domestic dog roaming the neighborhood couldn’t possibly find a way in, and certainly not with a ball in his or her mouth.

I like to think it’s the spirit of my Victor sending me a gigantic message that he’s still chasing tennis balls and he’s up there with Sabrina and Stella Rondo and Beowulf and Tovah and Bandit and Misty and Tawny and Blackie, all my beautiful children who were so very loved and cherished during their lifetimes and beyond.

Here’s my most special part wolf, Beowulf, and a MUCH younger me.

I was part of a covert rescue operation and bottlefed him every two hours. I was his mom and he was my perfect boy. We were inseparable. Soul mates.

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Yup, I really do miss them all so very much.

But where do the balls really come from?